Chapter 31: Looking for a Young Lady to Drink and Chat With

It was only then that Zhou Zhihan truly felt how insignificant the earth appeared compared to the sky.

Earlier, as the Tachikawa Ki-95c trainer climbed from the ground into the air, he had barely registered the aircraft’s speed. Even when it reached 160 kilometers per hour, the sound of the wings tearing through the air and the roar of the engine did not feel like 160 kilometers per hour to him; relative to his surroundings, it felt slower than driving a car at 80 kilometers per hour on a highway.

Zhou Zhihan now realized that when a car travels on a highway, there are reference points—the road, the lanes, the lines, other vehicles, trees, villages, and even the curves of the road.

A fighter jet climbing into the sky has no reference points. Like a great bird, it cannot feel its own speed. Only when it banks and dives toward the earth, using the ground as a reference, does the bird sense that it is moving faster and faster.

After the Tachikawa Ki-95c landed smoothly and taxied for a few hundred meters, Zhou Zhihan followed the flight manual’s instructions, practicing left and right turns on the ground using the rudder pedals, much like a driver learning the ropes on a narrow path.

Half an hour later, Zhou Zhihan pulled the nose up once more, climbing into the sky.

This time, the flight manual provided no prompts. Relying on his memory and a growing familiarity with the controls, Zhou Zhihan flew independently. He continued to fly level, using the earth as a reference point, feeling the slight turbulence and the subtle shifts in the fuselage caused by air currents, practicing how to correct the aircraft's flight path accordingly.

Flying level by using the earth as a reference without relying on the artificial horizon or compass on the dashboard is a mandatory skill for any pilot. In emergency situations or aerial combat, a pilot cannot keep their eyes glued to the instruments; they must often judge altitude and angle by looking at the ground. Such experience can only be earned through flight time.

Furthermore, because aviation technology at this time was not yet mature or robust, aircraft instrument panels often malfunctioned in flight. It had become common for individual gauges to fail, or sometimes for the entire panel to go dark. Pilots had to rely on villages, rivers, cities, and buildings below to judge their speed, altitude, and angle of attack.

Four hours later, the fuel gauge on the Tachikawa Ki-95c lit up red.

The system’s voice echoed in his ears: "The host can spend 20,000 air combat points to refill the trainer's fuel tank. Alternatively, depending on your physical stamina, you may choose to end today's flight."

"It can do that? Can I refuel in mid-air with air combat points?"

"If the host wishes, you could also install a machine gun on this trainer."

"Damn!"

Zhou Zhihan decided he had had enough for the day; he was exhausted.

He landed the 95c trainer with practiced ease. As he climbed down the ladder to the ground, his legs went limp, and he collapsed onto the dirt.

Four hours of flight had completely drained him.

Watching the Tachikawa Ki-95c and the suddenly manifested hangar vanish into thin air, Zhou Zhihan returned to his room in the real world. His entire body felt as if it were falling apart—sore, aching, and swollen.

The control stick and rudder pedals on the Tachikawa Ki-95c lacked power-assist systems. The control stick, in particular, required immense strength to pull back to level the plane after a dive. This demanded that a pilot possess a robust physique; if a pilot lacked the strength at that moment, the plane would simply crash into the ground and disintegrate.

In the early days of World War II, no fighter aircraft had power-assisted controls. Every push, pull, or banking maneuver required the pilot’s own physical effort, which is why pilots were chosen from thousands of candidates.

During World War II, many pilots in dogfights met their end because, after repeated diving and climbing, they lacked the strength to pull their aircraft out of a final dive, causing them to plummet to the ground. Such cases were not uncommon, which was why air forces placed such a high premium on a pilot's physical condition. This was also why Zhou Zhihan had been sent by the Randolph Air Force Academy to the Army NCO Academy for physical training.

In this era, aircraft were far more expensive than pilots. It would not be until the mid-to-late stages of the war that pilots would become more valuable than the machines they flew.

With his predecessor’s physical stamina, he likely would have been helpless after only two climb-and-dive maneuvers, left only to watch as the nose pointed toward the earth.

Zhou Zhihan’s undergarments were soaked through. He took a shower and lay down on the bed wrapped in a bath towel.

Comfort! There was nothing like lying in bed.

Yet, every time Zhou Zhihan closed his eyes, he felt as if he were still in the cockpit, climbing into the sky. His mind filled with flight instruments, and he would involuntarily press his feet against the floor as if working the rudder. When he kicked at empty air, he would snap his eyes open, staring blankly at the room around him.

It was the same feeling as returning home after a long day of driving and being unable to fall asleep.

He sat up and lit a cigarette, struggling to purge the word "aircraft" from his mind.

His eyelids grew heavy. Just as he felt he might drift off, he lay down, closed his eyes, and the instrument panels appeared in his mind again, followed by the sensation of diving in the cockpit...

"Damn it!"

Zhou Zhihan sat up again and paced the room. His hearing, unfortunately, was too sharp; he could hear the creaking of a bed and the sounds of distress coming from a room several doors away.

To make matters worse, he didn't want to hear these noises, but his accursed ears refused to obey, picking up every sound.

Zhou Zhihan began to lose his mind.

He needed a drink. Chilled whiskey, red wine, beer—anything would do. He just needed to numb his brain so he could collapse and sleep.

He checked the watch he had bought with 12,000 air combat points. It was past three in the morning. Where could he find alcohol at this hour?

He wondered if this inn sold any.

His underclothes were soaked with sweat, and the damp fabric was unbearable, so he wrapped a bath towel around his waist, threw on an outer garment, and left his room. He didn't even bother closing the door; there was nothing worth stealing.

At the front desk, the old cowboy sat half-reclined in a chair, watching a black-and-white television. A pipe hung from his mouth, and his cowboy hat was pulled low, obscuring his eyes. A half-empty bottle of whiskey sat before him.

If only there were a black-and-white TV in his room, even if the programs were hopelessly dated. When suffering from insomnia, turning on the TV—even just to listen—could sometimes help him drift off, or at least keep the agitation at bay.

The old cowboy, clearly unused to seeing a guest emerge wrapped in a bath towel, twitched the corner of his mouth around his pipe and nodded at Zhou Zhihan.

He was a man who had seen it all; even if someone had come out stark naked, he would have handled it. Besides, this Oriental man didn't look like he was looking for trouble.

The old cowboy shifted in his seat, raising his right arm to rest his hand naturally on his midsection, his left hand holding the pipe, leaving his armpit exposed.

"A real old-school cowboy," Zhou Zhihan thought with secret admiration, keeping his composure. He held the towel tight with both hands, as if afraid it might fall, to put the old man at ease. "I want to buy a bottle of whiskey. I can't sleep. I want to drink, and I want to find a girl to drink with me."

"Fu